THE MEASURE OF PAIN
(Vlad Tarasov)
What is a measure of pain?
Is it in bytes or in useless poetries?
Or maybe in endless grey days?
Pain has a color of the sky,
Sound of rain or waiting for the sun
Just one step from the madness…
Sometimes she calls you,
Breathing, attracting by the innocent eyes
Tempts your spirit and brain
This is a relentless grief
Perfect notes of an unwritten dead song
Or maybe it's just a Sunday…
Heap of the ashes in my chest,
Desired silence and rest
Need for something to cure
Looking for shelter and truth…
Pain is a mercy and faith
Poisoned dreams, artificial words
Chain of the petty mistakes
Never ending way to the everlasting light
I recognize my voice in this scream in the night
It's full of the desperate sorrows
I am not alive but I have not yet died,
I am like a God, I am immortal
I'll never be free in a circle of sorrow
